


Heavy Is The Crown

by SunflowerSpectre



Series: Desire | Neronvain [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSpectre/pseuds/SunflowerSpectre
Summary: Neronvain bears the weight of being a price, until one day that burden falls to his brother's shoulders at his apparent disappearance and then, at his apparent death. Even when apparent death appears to be fake and Neronvain makes a reappearance, the burden of the crown will always weigh on Alagarthas.
Series: Desire | Neronvain [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879351





	Heavy Is The Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiwiToast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiToast/gifts).



Neronvain glances toward his little brother with a curious tilt of his head. His father was already in a titsy, going on about how Algetharis will surpass all in terms of being king, that he will be a king that people will write songs about and weave tapestries for. The queen didn’t seem to share the king’s sentiment, or if she does, she at least doesn’t voice it. Instead she cradles Algatheris close to her chest, hand below his head tenderly with a look that makes Neronvain’s heart sting. Neronvain is only twenty years old and his brother has only been alive for a mere hour and already Neronvain can tell that his little brother is the favorite. 

Resentment bubbles and stirs in his chest, but it melts away when the queen - whom he still is on edge of, yet to call her mother - hands the babe over to him. The weight and position feels awkward to him, unfamiliar, and it takes a moment for him to get it right with the watchful eyes of the queen and the challenging glare of his father. Alagarthas doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness of which Neronvain holds him, instead his beady innocent eyes just blink up at him questionably. Neronvain meets his gaze with a tilt of his head, unsure of what to do next or what his little brother is wanting from him. Alagarthas holds the gaze for a moment before bursting into a fit of tiny giggles, a toothless grin stretched on his tiny face.

* * *

Alagarthas is eight years old when he notices the way others treat his brother and he gets upset at himself for not realizing it sooner. He realizes it when he sees the way the knights treat their sons, there’s something about the stern love in their voice and the hand they extend to their oldest son each time they fail that feels different. He doesn’t remember their father ever speaking to Neronvain like that, usually it’s yelling or just stern reprimands. The king says things to Neronvain that he never says to Alagarthas, things that feel like something the villain in one of his books would say. 

Then he realizes it’s not just their father. The maids all avoid Neronvain, the knights are never friendly with him like they are with Al. No one ever offers the extra sweets to Neronvain or asks him how his day was or what new thing he learned. Even Mother, who pats his head and smiles during meetings with the council, is strained when speaking to his older brother.

He thinks that’s not fair. Neronvain never does anything wrong. He always gives Al his extra desserts and he taught him how to read and write. Their father keeps saying that was bad, but Al doesn’t understand why. He just wanted to learn the way that his older brother did.

He doesn’t know how to tell Neronvain that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need friends or fathers or maids or knights, as long as they have each other. So he stumbles through the dark hall of the castle, long after his curfew, with a tray of cookies that he stole when the chef wasn’t looking, all the way until he reaches Neronvain’s room.

_ “Nero…” _ Alagarthas whispers, too scared to knock on the door, eyes darting around frantically for any signs of someone catching him. 

Neronvain doesn’t answer the door, so he presses the tray of cookies into the room from the gap under the door. The next night, so late that the candles in his room are already out, he finds a thank you note and a pastry being passed from under his door.

* * *

Alagarthas is ten when he finds out how to play pranks without getting caught. He always wanted to play pranks, but with their father looming over them, he could never risk it until he knew for sure that it couldn’t be blamed on him. So he figured out his plan first and then put it into action; when the first prank went off without a hitch, it became a habit, a way for him to get back at people without getting trouble. 

He starts with the people who hurt his brother first. The ones who whisper insults during the meetings or spread gossip in empty halls. He can’t think of anyone more befitting for his revenge. He starts with small things, misplacing well-used items so they can’t be found as easily but are well-spotted enough that they can’t be sure they never put it there. Then he starts replacing their soaps with stuff that stinks when it gets wet or dyes your skin. 

He’s pretty sure that Neronvain knows that he’s the one doing it. His older brother gave him a thinly veiled conversation about the ‘mysterious pranks plaguing the council’ and at first Alagarthas is scared that he’s perfect plan was ruined - he got caught. 

Instead, Neronvain helps him perfect it so that  _ he _ knows that Alagarthas will never be connected to the pranks and he never breathes so much as a word to their father.

  
  


* * *

Alagarthas is twelve when the queen dies and that night is the first night in years that he softly knocks on his brother’s door in the middle of the night. He told his father that he would be fine. He told Neronvain that he wouldn’t need this. But when darkness started to creep along the castle’s walls, he felt lost in it. It feels darker than usual -  _ emptier.  _ Even standing in front of his older brother’s door, he clutches a blanket around his shoulders tightly feeling less like a prince and more like a small babe.

Neronvain opens the door softly with an expected sad smile on his face. It’s clear that he was expecting Al to come by, but he doesn’t say anything as he leads his brother into the room, careful not to make much noise as he shuts the heavy door behind him. He can hear his little brother already sniffling and in the low light of the stars beaming in through the window, he can see the tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.

Alagarthas’s shoulders start to shake the moment that Neronvain’s hand touches him. The small coil that was holding him together comes undone rapidly, tears pouring down his face faster than he can wipe them away. He tries to force a smile on his face, tries to swallow it down, but Neronvain just gets down on his knees in front of him. Awkwardly, he stretches out his arms and after a moment of processing the action, Alagarthas jumps into his arms, hugging his brother tightly as sobs shake his small body.

* * *

  
  


Alagarthas’ eyes dance between his older brother and their father. It never matters how old he is, this is always hard for him to listen to. With every passing year, their fighting has gone from snide comments and petty aggressions to full out yelling matches and punishments. He can see the red flush on the king’s face, a vein throbbing in his neck as Neronvain continues to ramble on, not quite yelling but with a loud, solid voice that seeps with passion, his hands moving as he speaks. Alagarthas rarely sees Neronvain so passionate about something and if it were in any other situation, he would be thrilled, but instead he just feels lost as he tries to ease the tension that is steadily - and quickly - building in the room.

He doesn’t focus on what his brother is saying nor what their father must be thinking, instead he tries to get both of them to walk it off. He urges Neronvain to slow down, to take a breath, while trying to convince their father to stop yelling, to try to at least listen or to find  _ something _ that they can compromise on. 

Ater the king takes a tentative breath and speaks, he doesn’t leave any room for argument. He has a way of saying so little, yet doing so much - his words cut through the air sharply as Neronvain starts to shut down. Alagarthas can’t help but deflate as he watches Neronvain storm off, their father not far behind. Absently, he wonders how he can be so much older and yet still feel so young. 

“Nerovain,” Alagarthas makes the decision easily, heading immediately after his brother, “Neronvain, please wait -”

He rounds the corner of the hall just as his brother slams the door to his bedroom.  _ Nero…  _ The hopelessness builds in his chest before he takes a deep breath and walks to the kitchen with his chin held high, smiling brightly at any passing maid. He smoothly glides through the kitchen behind the chefs, snatching a tray of pastries as he makes his way out without anyone being the wiser. The maids who spot him in the halls with it don’t say a word when he winks at them, making a quiet motion with his finger that makes them nod in understanding with flushed faces.

He tries not to show the way it makes a bitterness and a bit of spite flutter in his chest, knowing that they would never get so flustered if it was Neronvain. None of the staff ever smile to his brother the way that they do to him and the chefs would never ignore the missing pastries and snacks if they thought for a second it was the older prince.

* * *

“It seems like you two are fighting more often now,” Alagarthas comments softly as he sits with his back against his brother’s door. Neronvain doesn’t have to say a word for him to know he’s listening. When he places a pastry halfway through the gap in the door, it gets snatched up from the other side; that’s enough for him. “I admit that I don’t always follow what everything is about, but I do wish you’d show up more often to the festivals.”

“I wonder what everyone thinks of their prince only showing up to make an appearance before blowing them off,” Alagatharas comments dryly, munching on a pastry, “You know that they miss you.”

It’s a half-empty statement. They both know it, but Alagatharas feels he had to say  _ something _ about the fact that Neronvain is steadily avoiding the public more and more now. He tells himself that Neronvain avoiding everyone is what contributes to their growing resentment toward the prince. He tells himself that if Neronvain just joined in with everyone then everything will go back to being okay. 

“... _ I  _ miss you,” Alagarthas admits softly after a pregnant pause, sighing deeply as he rests his head against the door, the tray of pastries forgotten. “I would love to try to woo some of the maidens here with my brother, or we can try to prank some of the nobles at the festivals like old times…”

“ _ I don’t care what we do, Nero…” _ Alagarthas continues, his voice growing softer and softer as he continues. “...And I’m not sure why or  _ if _ you’re avoiding me along with the public anymore sometimes. I know that you don’t have to study as often as you claim.”

It feels like forever before he gets up, not quite wanting to abandon his brother, but feeling that there isn’t much more to be said or done and he knows that Neronvain needs his space.  _ He seems to always need his space lately.  _ He stands up, carefully picking up the half-full tray as he does. He gives one last look toward Neronvain’s door before he starts to finally leave. 

He barely gets a few feet away from the door before it creaks open. He’s almost too scared to look to see if Neronvain really is leaving the room and he’s half convinced he’s imagining it before Neronvain’s voice speaks up from behind him.

“I - I’m not avoiding you.” Neronvain speaks up. Alagarthas turns to see him standing a bit awkwardly half-in and half-out of the door, as if he’s not sure if he should come out or not. His eyes don’t quite meet Alagarthas, so he doesn’t see the way Alagarthas’ expression softens as a smile stretches across his face.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Alagarthas doesn’t want to waste this chance, immediately taking the opportunity to spend time with his brother in a time like this. Neronvain doesn’t give much argument to the way Alagarthas makes his way into the bedroom, “There’s still plenty of pastries left and it would be nice to eat them together.”

* * *

  
  


“It’s frustrating,” Neronvain admits to his brother, hands crossing and uncrossing before settling for waving around, “He doesn’t understand.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand either,” Alagarthas admits, scratching at the back of his neck as he watches his older brother pace angrily across the room. 

Neronvain is one of his tangents again. Alagarthas has gotten used to moments like this - moments that he knows will later lead up to a fight with Neronvain and their father. It’s the moment where Neronvain seems to be hyping himself, absolutely convinced of his notions, as if he suddenly just can’t keep biting his tongue during council anymore. It’s usually triggered by a snide comment by a noble or when their father makes a speech about the traditions in the family. The latter always leads to the worst fights and Alagarthas is not looking forward to playing meditator when this moment builds to that. He’s tempted to just be mysteriously gone tonight, not looking forward to when Neronvain’s passion reaches a boiling point. One night, that’s all he wants - one night where he can let them handle it like the adults (and royalty) that they are supposed to be. 

“How can you not understand,” Neronvain’s eyes snap to his brother, “This place - this  _ kingdom _ \- needs to change! We can’t just keep doing the same thing century after century as the world around us changes. If Father keeps refusing to change -”

“-I don’t know, Neronvain,” Alagarthas speaks up, “You have to remember that they’re all…” He falters for a moment before settling on a word, “-  _ old.  _ Like insanely  _ old _ . Besides, things here aren’t exactly bad. I think that things are going pretty well.”

“-But they could be  _ better, _ ” Neronvain stresses, latching onto the argument, “We should be striving to make things  _ better _ for the kingdom, not just sitting around doing nothing because everything happens to be  _ fine.” _

Alagarthas tries to not let his expression drop, not willing to show his brother just tired the conversation is making him, “But some of your suggestions  _ are _ a bit extreme, brother.”

“ _ Extreme,” _ Neronvain’s voice is strained, eyes a bit more frantic than usual, as he continues on his rampant. 

Alagarthas settles into his chair, making the choice that for today it may be better to just let Neronvain get it all out of his system and tonight - tonight, Alagarthas is just going to be conveniently in town when that fiery passion reaches their father.  _ I’m sorry, Nero, but I just can’t keep doing this, _ Alagarthas thinks dejectedly.  _ I need a break. You can handle yourself against Father tonight. _

  
  


* * *

That night, Alagarthas returns to the castle when he feels that whatever fight between his brother and their father would have already passed. He feels pretty confident that by now, he can just go in, comfort Neronvain as he always does, maybe try to have a civil conversation with their father by himself about Neronvain if he’s cooled down enough, and then have a relaxing night.

But any plans he thought he would have tonight wash away when he starts to smell the smoke. His heart drops into his gut as his calm walk turns into a run, nearly running into the frantic staff that seem just as panicked as he is beginning to feel. The crowd gets worse the closer and closer that he gets to his brother’s room.  _ Neronvain. _ Despite the beaming heat that radiates off the wild flames licking their way across the hall in front of his brother’s room, Alagatharas can feel his blood run cold. 

He isn’t sure if he’s shouting or not, everything around him seems to spin. The sounds of staff and orders from  _ someone _ sound slow, echoing in his ears deeply. He pushes his way through them, ignoring the sounds of people trying to stop him. His eyes are frantically searching the crowd of staff and knights. He doesn’t see any sign of his brother as he sees the heart of the fire is settled in his brother’s room. He holds onto the fleeting hope that his brother is in the courtroom or in the study, somewhere far away from his room. 

“Neronvain,” he stops one of the staff, his hand hitting their chest a bit too hard, “Where’s my brother?”

His voice wavers and breaks as the staff’s eyes give him the answer he was dreading to hear.

* * *

  
  


King Melandrach weaves the story about what happened delicately in a way that makes it hard for Alagarthas to  _ not _ believe him, even if he doesn’t want to. What his father tells him  _ sounds _ like the truth, but the king omits too many details for him to fully grasp the full story. But none of it changes the fact that Neronvain started the fire, even if his father won’t tell him why just like he won’t say a word about the fight that happened just beforehand.

What he knows he can’t tell his father, even at news of him becoming the new heir, is that he still can’t shake the cold blood that creeps against his skin - a numbness that makes him smile with empty eyes and take the news gracefully when he feels like he’s not really there.

King Melandrach watches his son take his leave with a heavy sigh. With no present company, the king’s demeanor starts to change as his lips form a thin line. While there is hardly any lost love between him and his oldest, he can’t admit that the only thing he still had of his first wife is now gone. He also knows that this situation will affect Alagarthas greatly, even if he is currently trying his best to hide it, but only time will tell just how much so and if his youngest can overcome it to become the ideal heir.

  
  


* * *

Alagarthas looks over the reports carefully, eyebrows furrowed before finally he lets out a noise of frustration, sweeping off all of the letters with a fury. Nothing -  _ nothing _ so far on his brother has come in. He had hoped by now that there would be sightings, letters, maybe even something from Neronvain himself, yet he can’t find so much as a  _ rumor.  _ Frustration and denial burn in him as he clenches his fists tightly; he hates feeling like this, but he feels that he doesn’t deserve to be okay if -  _ no, no if -  _ his brother is out there. He needs to bring Neronvain home, even if no one else seems concerned,  _ he _ needs his older brother.

He takes a deep breath and he looks back toward the letters. There has to be something he missed in the reports. He has carefully planted eyes and ears  _ everywhere _ \-  _ someone _ must have heard or seen something. He doesn’t bother to pick up the frantically scattered papers, instead opting to sit down on the floor and pick them each up individually as he looks them over before tossing them into a separate pile. Most don’t hold anything of importance, except for one paper he finds. It’s sticking firmly to one of the others with him barely spotting it. He carefully peels the papers apart, a spark of hope igniting in him thinking maybe this one that he missed would hold something. 

As his eyes scan through the parchment, the hope fizzles out as his earlier frustration is replaced firmly with cold denial.  _ No, no, no - he can’t be -  _ Alagarthas can barely breath, his chest feeling dangerously tight as something inside of him constricts. A wave of horrific realization washes over him as he takes in the small letters confirming his worst fears. 

_ Neronvain’s dead.  _

* * *

  
  


Alagarthas’ smile feels odd, unfamiliar. It’s plastered onto his face like a mask. It’s enough to fool the public, even the nobility that visits. If the king notices the lost spark in his son’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything. The maids still get flustered when he winks at them, his heart not even in it. Every meal feels more and more like a chore with each passing year, with it tasting stale and flavorless. He tells the chefs he’s not hungry and while it’s not a lie, he learns to tell them that he already ate instead so that they no longer look at him with a closested concern and pity.

He still walks by what used to be Neronvain’s room, despite it being repaired long ago he still knows exactly where each soot stain still is between the cracks of the walls. But the room itself just lays empty, as if his brother was never even there in the first place. As if it wasn’t the place he set on fire just to escape. 

_ And why did he escape?  _ He knows -  _ knew _ \- his brother well and Neronvain’s escape from the castle is still just the  _ last _ piece of the puzzle. There are much better ways to sneak out of the castle; Alagarthas knows each of them well.If it was to fake his death, then it was done poorly since no one within the family actually believed him to be dead from the fire; the king was clear that Neronvain was simply  _ disowned.  _ He can’t help but feel there’s some hidden message that he’s missing; some crucial detail that will make this all make sense. He knows, deep down, that the answers lie in whatever happened that night - whatever fight that his father and Neronvain had. If he hadn’t gone into town, then maybe this wouldn’t have even happened in the first place, so the least he can do is figure out what happened. He owes that much to his brother. He tells himself if he can at least figure that out, then maybe that hollow feeling will go away. 

  
  


* * *

When news reaches him that his brother is coming to the castle, accompanied by a group of adventurers, Alagarthas thinks he has to have misheard the information. They tell the court - the king - that the adventurers had not only found him, but that one of their own had been stuck on an island with his brother for a good part of two months until they were able to retrieve them again; and now, the group are  _ here _ , his brother in tow.

His brother can’t possibly be here - he can’t be  _ alive. _ He glances to his father and there’s not even a hint of surprise on his face - as if he expected this to happen, as if he knew so much more than he’s told Alagarthas. While that in of itself is worth thinking of, it confirms that the news  _ has _ to be true. He looks to the supposed hero that brought back his brother - Desire, they said. She certainly looks the part of an adventurer, if a bit cuter than he would have expected. She stands before the court looking almost abashed - ashamed, nervous - as if she doesn’t like the fact that she brought back his brother.

He doesn’t understand -  _ why isn’t anyone here happy that his brother is actually alive? _ He looks around frantically as he can, trying to catch any glimpse of his brother. He needs to see him so that this can be  _ real _ \- so he can’t convince himself that this is a dream.

“Thank you for keeping Neronvain in check until he arrived. I can’t imagine being stranded on the island for two months with that monster. You’re a hero for returning him, I imagine that must not have been easy.”

His father’s words cut to him sharply, making the moment feel more like a nightmare as he snaps his attention to the king, questions dancing in his eyes. He knows his father has never quite loved Neronvain, that they fought often, but  _ monster?  _ Implying that his brother is some sort of criminal? A  _ villain? _ It seems far-fetched, but no one else seems to react to the comment. But if his brother is being treated like a criminal, if the king seems to believe that he is, then what did it mean for Neronvain to come back? What does it mean for them to have found him? Was Neronvain hiding for his safety, of all things? Will he be treated like a criminal?

He gets his answer when he sees the way they bring Neronvain in. His brother looks older, which is to be expected, but his eyes are too haunting for even his age with bags under them and a gleam of shame. He doesn’t stand like the prince he used to be, slouched over with shackles dragging him down. The chains click and clack against the stone flooring with every step he takes. He looks worse for wear with obvious healing wounds and not-so-healing ones that are bandaged haphazardly. 

It takes everything that he has to not run to his brother - to not shout his disagreement, to not cry about the fact that his brother is  _ here _ , he is  _ alive,  _ but he’s also in  _ chains. _ He feels seconds away from chewing off his nails, to want to do something to get rid of the bubbling feeling in his chest, to calm the bouncing of his knee. Is he the only one this is bothering?

He meets the eyes of the adventurer that brought his brother. He expects himself to hate her for this - for not letting his brother stay in hiding, even if he thought Neronvain was dead, at least he wasn’t seconds away from facing trial. Neronvain wasn’t anyone’s favorite even  _ before _ all of this. He can only imagine what punishment that they will bestow upon him. 

But when he meets Desire’s eyes, he’s met with a mirror of his own. She can barely even look at Neronvain, shame and worry clear on her face; an uncomfortableness as if she regrets everything that she has done, as if she didn’t  _ want _ to bring Neronvain home. 

They give the adventurers their own room, including Desire, along with the news of a feast in her honor. They keep repeating their thanks, their praise, and with each one, she looks more and more like she’s going to run or scream. Her eyes keep flickering to Neronvain, who refuses to look at her. Alagarthas, however, latches onto her; if she’s against this even as half as he is, then he has someone on his side, an outside, reliable force that can argue against whatever punishment they are going to give.

  
  


When all of Neronvain’s crimes are out in the open, Alagarthas just doesn’t believe it. The adventurers are gone, having retired for the evening while the council debates his fate. They recite crime after crime, each worse than the other. He looks to Neronvain for answers, for a sign that none of this is true, but Neronvain refuses to look at him. A stone settles in his chest as he realizes that whatever punishment he was imagining for his brother is going to be even worse than he could dream of. 

It’s when talk of execution reaches the floor that he feels every part of himself reject the very notion. Even the thought of it makes him want to throw up. He forces his mouth shut. He has to listen, for now, but a plan is already forming in his mind. He has to do something to stop this - he can’t just watch his brother come home only for them to kill him. He already thought Neronvain was dead once and it almost destroyed him - if he were to watch Neronvain really die, it  _ would _ kill him. 

He just needs someone - he thinks of the adventurer who brought him in - he needs someone like her to be on his side so that everyone knows that his opinion on Neronvain’s punishment isn’t completely biased. He catches a glimpse of her in the shadows, just beyond the doors, clutching the wall like a lifeline. He keeps the smile from his face as he watches her dig nails into her palm, just as upset as he is on the news. 

If she were to be caught, she would be banned from the castle for intruding on such a council matter without invitation. He can’t let that happen, so each time someone gets close, he makes sure to grab everyone’s attention. He distracts them long enough for her to get away and when he politely excuses himself, he gets away himself until he finds her wandering the halls aimlessly. 

He glances around. While he spots no one, he can hear people not too far away. He can’t risk this conversation being overheard, so when his eyes see the closet door that she is about to pass, he acts. He uses a hand to cover her mouth, noticing the way her whole body tenses ready for a fight, before he drags them both into the small closet.

He doesn’t pay attention to their close quarters, but notices the awkward stance she takes on. 

“We have to save him,” he whispers, his voice frantic and desperate. He can’t waste any time. He needs something to be done now. “They want to kill him - they want to kill my brother.”

Desire watches him for a moment, her eyes meeting his gaze for a beat too long. He waits anxiously to see if she will argue against him, hit him, or simply shove her way out of the closet as she spreads rumors about him being some sort of pervert for dragging her into the closet in the first place. Instead, she takes a deep breath, a light flush against her cheeks. Her eyes don’t falter from his for a second.

“How do we save him?”

Her question releases all of the tension in his body. He visibly relaxes, his gaze softening as he realizes that his assumption about her was right. He hopes that he’s right to trust her too, but considering the situation, he’s more than willing to take a few risks.

“I have a plan. I think if we both vouch for him, if we make them see that he still has some good left, that they may consider rehabilitation. I don’t think they will put him in a cell considering how he broke out the first time.”

He hopes that she’s still with him, but she has to leave. Her eyes still met his. 

“You were stranded with him,” his voice is pleading, “You didn’t know him very well, but you were stuck with him for two months. As an outsider who was stranded with him, your word on the decision has weight to it. I’m sure of it.”

Alagarthas knows that is clinging to straws, but he  _ has something _ . He can’t just let his brother die - not a second time. Desperation crawls its way into his eyes as it does to his voice. A gutteral denial that makes the room thick and heavy, but makes her decision all too easy.

“I’ll do it.”


End file.
